


Lens

by captaincanarynsfw (flabbergabst)



Series: Captain Canary After Dark [3]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-14 20:37:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16048115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flabbergabst/pseuds/captaincanarynsfw
Summary: When Leonard and Sara decided to record themselves.No specific timeline, no specfic Earth.





	Lens

“You sure I’m in the shot? Lined it up right and everything?”

Sara rolls her eyes. “Yes, you only made me check, like, four times.”

“Just wanna be sure.”

“You really think we need to have flawless camera angles if we’re just making a porno?”

“Hey,” Leonard chides, sitting up and making his way across the room where she stands, positioning the camcorder on the dresser. “This is gonna be some Oscar-worthy cinematography.” Sara looks up from the camera, over at him, and chortles, prompting him to frown. “What?”

“Nothing,” she snickers. “It’s just… hard to take you seriously with your dick out.”

Naked as the day he was born, Leonard glances down at the aforementioned third party in the room, dangling there innocuously between his legs, and quirks an eyebrow. “Keep attacking me and Cold Jr. here, and he might get performance anxiety.”

Sara snickered. “If you ever personify your penis to me again, I’m going to break up with you.”

Len humphs, but doesn’t reply at first. Instead, he only bends down and glances at the little screen on the camcorder with a look of contemplation, as if considering something, before sending a smirk her way.

“You think it’s kinda excessive to steal a camcorder just to make a sex tape with?”

Just as naked as he is and equally unashamed of the fact, Sara folds her arms and gives a flippant shrug. “Maybe. But that’s what my skills were made for.”

Len snickers. “Yeah, I’m sure your League of Assassins’ training is supposed to be used to steal camcorders.”

“Is this supposed to be getting me wet?” Sara quips, and takes a step closer to him, listening to his breath hitch in his throat, observing their naked bodies in the mirror out of her peripheral vision; his tall and imposing and muscular in a way that isn’t excessive, hers thin and lithe, the graceful, perky contour of her ass sloping down, her breast up alert. “Because if so, it’s really, really not working.”

She feels more than slightly ridiculous doing this, Sara has to admit – although the idea had been hers to start with, so she doesn’t get to stand on some sort of pretense of moral high ground in this situation. She’d put the idea to him, a bit timidly, and of course Len had been up for it, because there really isn’t anything in the realm of sexual acts that Leonard isn’t up for nowadays. Things had gone down the rabbit hole from there very quickly, culminating in a Saturday afternoon trip to Best Buy to steal a video camera.

They’d settled on the bedroom in Leonard’s Central City apartment for filming – better natural light, he’d argued, clearly having put quite a lot of thought into this – and drawn up a vague play-by-play of positions. Still, though, Sara finds herself unsure exactly how to proceed from here, when part of her wants to burst out laughing at how ridiculous all this is, and another wants to jump his bones right here and now and get on with it already.

“All right,” Leonard says, and steps closer. “Got any ideas for good opening lines then?”

“Good opening lines? I didn’t know we needed a script.”

Len shrugs. “Yeah, like… I’m a sexy pizza delivery guy, you ordered pizza but you don’t have any money…”

She furrows her brow. “Why would I order a pizza I can’t afford?”

“You know what I mean – it’s a classic porno opener, c’mon.”

Sara laughs, and inches closer, reaching a hand up and smoothing it idly across his chest. “No porno I’ve ever seen has started like that.”

“Oh yeah?” He grins crookedly. “So you’ve seen a lotta pornos then?”

“I’ve seen enough,” she says, and cocks her head to one side. “Now, are we gonna keep talking or are you gonna fuck me through the mattress already?”

Leonard needs no further persuasion; in mere seconds he’s upon her like a wolf, pivoting forward, catching her in his arms, pulling her flush against him and kissing her deeply, his hands venturing lower and lower, brushing the small of her back then cupping her ass, no hesitation, no asking permission, no words, all action. She reaches down into the space between them, taking his cock in hand, feeling it start to twitch and harden as she pumps him, lightly, one, then twice; just a mere whisper-touch of her fingers, but more than enough to have him in the palm of her hand – quite literally.

“Mmm,” he hums, and pulls away briefly, hits the record button, then tugs her back over to the bed, into frame. “Then it’s lights,” he purrs, kissing the words onto her neck after they’ve toppled down together into a heap. “Camera.” Another kiss, this time sealed over her lips, his blue eyes saturated with mirth and dancing playfully. She has to hold back a laugh, as he makes his way atop her, spreading his body over hers. “Action.”

He doesn’t waste much time kissing her mouth, when really there’s another set of lips he finds just as kissable – if not more – and one that makes for a far better show. Hardly a minute passes before Len begins his descent, sucking marks onto her neck, pulling ruby-red, glowing blotches from her skin, then teasing at her nipples, suckling her breasts languidly and massaging them with his hands until they thrum with a low, pleasant ache, like the dying embers of a fire. Only this fire isn’t dying, far from it; it’s building between her legs, building into a similar ache, but this one is a hell of a lot more insistent, and she can feel herself dampening, feel her pulse taking up residence in her clit, gooseflesh breaking out across her skin in droves. She rubs her thighs together, desperate to obtain some sort of friction, some sort of anything when Leonard is stubbornly refusing to touch her where she wants, basking in the sounds of her soft whines and whimpers like a man in the sun.

Suddenly, it registers to Sara that she’s being yanked by the hips and turned, abruptly, so that her body is lying across the bed instead of lengthwise, providing the camera with a side view – and she has no goddamn clue how Leonard is still concerned with camera angles, really, when her brain is foggy and fast slipping out of reality, booting down into that state where all it can recognize is pleasure, but of course he would be.

He's like the Stephen fucking Spielberg of pornos.

She rolls her eyes, sputtering a laugh. “Oh my God, really?”

“For the best viewing angles,” he undertones, rasping the words across her skin, and they push up more goosebumps still, until Sara doesn’t think there’s an inch of her skin that isn’t covered in them. He sinks down onto his knees beside the bed, hair disheveled, blue eyes hazy and hooded. He takes hold of her foot, pressing a kiss to the side of it. “You want all the best angles, don’t you?”

The camera. Somehow she’d forgotten about it, lost herself in this moment with her boyfriend– which, she figures, is kind of the point of making a believable sex tape. She’s nude, all but spread-eagled with him settled in between her splayed thighs, and no one is watching, but the camera is. She imagines she can feel its tiny mechanical eye trained on her, and really any sane person would be horrified, yet it makes her almost unbearably aroused, her blood bubbling in her veins like lava, like it’s trying to escape through her pores as if through a million tiny steam vents. She feels pent-up, pressurized to the point of bursting.

She really, really just wants his mouth on her cunt already. Because if he’s here to perform, he better damn well perform.

“Hurry up,” she whimpers, then manages a breathless laugh as Len hovers over her, laying a trail of sloppy kisses on the inside of her thigh, nipping at a birthmark there; a darkened patch of skin she knows he’s come to adore. “Everybody… everybody skips through the foreplay part anyway.”

“Do they?” he teases, nudging her clit with his nose and sending a jolt through her. “Well, not me.”

Sara opens her mouth to retort, shoot something back – she doesn’t know what, isn’t really planning the words that are coming out of her mouth, but before she has the chance, Leonard is leaning in, capturing her folds in a deep, searing kiss, his mouth scalding her cunt, enveloping her completely as if trying to devour her in one bite, and he can, and he is. His pupils are wide, inky; irises a deep, soothing, rapt blue, and she swears she can almost feel them running across her body as if they were touching her, flowing over her skin smooth and easy like liquid. It’s tempting to stay propped up on her elbows, keep watching him as he laps at her, but her arms are trembling, all of her is trembling, and she finds they can’t hold her weight. She’s boneless already, muscles loose and rubbery, all but useless.

“Oh fuck… Oh fuck, Leonard-”

It’s a moment before he begins in earnest; at first he just teases her, nuzzling her clit, her folds, inhaling her heady scent like a honeybee to a flower. But then Leonard dives back in with all the enthusiasm of an Olympic swimmer, and she thinks he is, when it comes to this, thinks she should give him a goddamn gold medal for eating her out – because when he eats her out he fucking commits, throws himself into it, mind and body and soul, and it’s just his mouth on her, maybe, but somehow he makes it feel like so much more, like he has three tongues instead of one, molding all of them to her and melting against her, lapping her up, drinking her down with everything he has in him. He reads the fluttering of her breaths, the tightening of muscles, the twitching of her thighs, the rolling of her hips, decoding each one so effortlessly and responding accordingly, in that masterful, sharply focused way no one has ever attended to her with.

She glances down, and their eyes meet, and she barely recognizes the moan that spills past her lips when they do – because Len never looks happier than he does when he’s like this, on his knees, settled in at his favorite meal. Devouring her greedily, downright gluttonous, always giving her more whenever she becomes so sure there’s no way he can possibly give her more.

He wants this too. Sometimes she thinks Leonard gets off on this even more than she does.

Her hands migrate to her breasts, and she palms them, massaging her nipples almost frantically as little twinges shoot through her and tangle together into a knot of swelling pleasure between her thighs. Apparently, though, Leonard isn’t content to let her do any work at all right now, because within seconds he’s reaching up, moving forward and placing his hands on her tits instead, massaging them in tandem with the frenzied strokes of his tongue. And God, Sara knows how she must sound, how she must look; undignified, wanton; whimpering and whining, bucking her hips into his mouth, grabbing his hair and jamming his face against her soaked pussy like she’s going to die if she doesn’t come. Moaning like a porn star, ironically enough.  

She’s weak, within a hair’s breadth of coming, and then suddenly Leonard is repositioning the two of them, lying down on the bed and hauling her atop him, and it takes her a moment to comprehend that he’s urging her to straddle him backwards, face the camera instead of facing him. They don’t fuck in this position often, since he much prefers seeing her face, watching her when she comes, but for the purposes of today, he has chosen to sacrifice that luxury, and Sara has no complaints to make about it.

“Smile for the camera,” he teases from below, and anchors his hands on her hips, lining her up with his cock and impaling her on it in one swift motion.

She wobbles, a bit, unaccustomed to this position and unsure where exactly she should put her hands, but she eventually settles on leaning forward slightly, placing her hands on his thighs to steady herself as she starts moving, slowly, testing this new position, feeling his cock so deep inside her from behind, stretching her to that delicious precipice just short of pain and filling her in a way no one else ever has – in a way she doesn’t think anyone else ever can. She’s gasping for breath, now, struggling to wrangle air into her lungs as she works up a pace, releasing the tension in her hips and letting them roll back and forth intuitively, and she feels Leonard’s grip on her waist tighten, dull fingernails digging into her skin before he releases her, smoothes his hands over the fullness of her ass instead, guiding her backwards over him. He’s silent, for the most part. Len generally is, in bed, though she loves nothing more than making him moan.

Than fucking wrecking him.

But that isn’t the primary goal, today. Right now she’s here to perform, fuck herself on his cock and move her hips and look at the camera and moan, and she feels downright ridiculous, and she also feels impossibly sexy, empowered, in a way she’d never imagined she would. So she does all three of those things, finding the camera lens with ease where it rests on the dresser in front of the bed, spectating silently with its black, beady little eye, and she imagines in it the eye of the world, the eye of thousands, watching her, her body, as she reaches up, cupping her breasts, pinching the nipples, letting him roll her back onto his cock as he fucks into her from behind.

There’s a smack, suddenly, followed by a burning on her ass, like the scattering of a hundred pinpricks, and she manages a scoff, looking back at Leonard in shock and slowing her pace. “We do spanking now, Len?”

“Keep smiling,” he quips, grinning wickedly, like a lewd Cheshire cat. “The show must go on.”

“Fuck you,” she breathes, voice light, airy. She tries, but can’t manage to inject even the slightest bit of humor into it before it dissolves back into a groan. “Oh God, fuck me.”

She contemplates saying something else, something a tad bit more articulate, but the words die on her tongue, and they’d decided to keep dialogue to a minimum anyway, so instead Sara repositions herself, leaning back somewhat and placing her hands on his chest and redistributing her weight against him, bending her knees, allowing her to spread her legs and massage her clit. She thinks it’s pretty fucking good luck she was an assassin; she’s not sure she’d be flexible enough to do this otherwise. The new position allows even a better viewing angle than before, and again she pictures herself, putting herself on display, and again she feels just as overwhelmingly aroused as she does absurd.

Making a sex tape could really come back to bite her in the ass when this leaks, for whatever reasons. But she doesn’t think that’ll happen. In the rare chance that it does, she thinks she’s going to worry about that later.

She feels herself starting to clench, feels the burn in her abdomen and legs from the new, more strenuous position, feels the slick, soft glide of her fingers against her clit and the place where they’re joined just beneath, his cock stretching the delicate ring of muscle around her entrance. She loves riding him, controlling the pace; leaving Leonard to be little more than a motionless, useless body connected to a cock, something to be used, and he always lets her use him, is more than happy to be used.

And she isn’t, using him. That’s not what this is. It’s times like this, times they venture into new sexual territory together, when she’s convinced she’s never loved him more, because it’s such a thick steel cable of trust that binds them, makes them able to do these kinds of things together; things they’d never dare to do with another partner who might mock them for wanting it, wimp out. They never wimp out. They’re all in, for good, in everything. They freed themselves from shame ages ago, gave each other leave to fulfill any fantasy they might possess, and just when Sara starts to become certain there’s nowhere new they can go, no dark corner left of their lovemaking to explore, somehow they reach greater heights; more depraved, more filthy. More perverse. With Leonard, she’s come to learn there’s always more.

He makes her feel alive, truly alive, and sometimes she thinks she must have been living in some state of suspended animation before; not quite living but not quite not, until Leonard wormed his way into her life, into her bed, and worst of all – or perhaps best – into her heart. She loves him, for the things he can make her feel, but she loves him equally much for the times like this, for the freedom he gives her to be herself, releasing her from the shackles of convention and right and proper and good. She can be bad, with him.

She can be anything she wants, with him.

“Close,” she breathes, her voice strained, vocal cords strung tight. All of her is strung tight as a wire, being pulled tighter by the second, and she can feel herself start to clench around his cock, but she fights it off. She doesn’t want to come yet. “I’m… shit, I’m really-”

Len gets the message, hears her loud and clear, knows what she wants; he always does. She wants to prolong this, and so he nudges her off of him, pulling out and somehow managing to steady his ragged breathing long enough to right himself and sink down into a kneeling position on the sheets. Again he grabs her by the hips, turning her sideways, not sparing her much gentleness, and she lets him arrange her how he wants – because if she’s the star of this show, he seems pretty fucking intent on being the director, and she’s not quite sure she could move on her own in any efficient manner if she tried anyway, weak and moaning as she is.

So he tugs her forward, urging her to bend her legs back somewhat, bending them at the knees so they’re closer to her chest and spreading them, exposing her, allowing him complete, unbridled access to her cunt. Len anchors his hands under both her calves to hold up her legs, moving quickly and methodically, until he has her laid out just like he wants her, and only then does he go still.

And she thinks she could come just from looking at him, right then.

Because he’s looming over her, spreading her out, cock bobbing heavy and thick between his legs, and she can see it glistening with her wetness in the late afternoon sun that streams over them like molten gold. She can only moan helplessly, rolling her hips and squirming at the throb of emptiness between her thighs where he’d been only a moment ago, and she can’t explain what that does to her, that sight of her all over his cock, but all she knows is that it does a lot. He’s looming over her, body imposingly burly and downright enormous compared to her and looking at her with a feral grin. And he isn’t moving. He’s just looking.

Looking at her like she’s a feast laid out before him. Like he’s going to fuck her until she’s brainless.

“Do it,” she sputters, voice throaty, ripped from deep in her lungs. She tries not to whimper, to keep still, but finds she can’t manage it. “Hurry… hurry up, do it-”

He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. He’s decided to be an asshole now, and there is no script, but if there had been, Sara, one hundred percent, wouldn’t have been down with this being in it, though in the grand scheme of things she’s sure this makes for better viewing. She’s not a fan of being on the receiving end of this at the moment, though, even if she knows he’s only doing it to slow her down, cool her off, keep her from coming just yet; something he never seems to have a problem with, perplexingly enough. So instead of slipping into her, Leonard cants his hips forward slightly, moving in and brushing his cock against her labia, nestling it between them and almost, almost slipping inside before moving higher, to grind against her clit.

She was close. But now she’s slipping back, sliding down the cliffside away from the peak she’d been scaling towards – and she can’t imagine there’s a feeling more frustrating in the world.

“You want my cock?” he drawls, and somehow his voice is maddeningly steady, even though she’d been riding him like a nympho not more than a minute ago. “How do you want it?”

“Oh, fuck, can we-” A moan cuts her off. “Can we not do this right now, Len--”

“Not yet. Gotta hold out. Hold out for me,” he soothes, lowering his voice as if to keep the camera from hearing, his façade melting away momentarily before it reappears. “Use your words, now. How do you want my cock?”

God, he’s so fucking cocky – in more ways than one – and he’s teasing her, torturing her in a way that feels downright inhumane, but she knows his real purpose is to bring her back down to earth, get her to talk to him and immerse herself in the gravity of this planet once more, because she’s like a rocketship, hurtling uncontrollably out of the atmosphere at the speed of light, and he’s trying to pilot her. Trying to tug her reins back and halt her and make this last.

“Fuck me,” is all she can manage, all the words her smart mouth provides her with, right then. “Hard. D… deep – just… something. God, something-”

A grin slowly spreads itself across his face. “Your mouth? Want me to fuck you there?”

“No – screw you, you… you know what I-”

“I don’t think I do,” he replies, playing dumb, even though he isn’t, about this. “Ass again, then? Feelin’ kinky today?”

She wants to scream. She wants to kick him, really, and given her position she easily could, but petty physical violence won’t really fit the current narrative, so Sara finally acquiesces, giving in and playing along, knowing he’ll only continue down this frustrating path if she doesn’t tell him what she wants, on no uncertain terms. Spell it out for him.

“My cunt,” she almost spits the word, and she half-feels like an actual porn star saying that, and she feels a sudden, irrational urge to burst out laughing when she does. This is fucking ridiculous. It’s fucking wonderful. “There, you happy now?”

“Oh, I am,” he chuckles, and tugs her closer, and sinks his cock into her. “Very.”

Sara swears she almost goes cross-eyed from the sensation when he does, and she’s so wet, sopping wet and soaking the sheets and spilling down the crack of her ass, that his passage is blissfully effortless. There’s something about the angle of her elevated hips and the angle at which his cock slips inside her that drives her insane, sets her into a fit of writhing and moaning and muffled sobbing. She feels half-fucked to death and she hasn’t even come yet, and she’s all but forgotten about the camera, given herself over entirely to the basest instincts of her body. She’s close, so close she can taste it, can see the beginnings of fireworks flickering behind her closed eyelids, and so she reaches down, groping for her clit and rubbing it in frenetic, stuttering circles as he fucks her, pace leisurely and measured, but purposeful. Sharp. He plays her body like a maestro, tuning her like an instrument beneath his palms with no trouble at all.

“Open your eyes. I wanna watch you.”

A voice. His voice, fading into her consciousness from some distant, far-off dimension. At first she can’t find it in herself to comply, but after a moment she finally does, and when Sara does, it shoves her even closer to that edge; not a push, not a gentle coax. A hard, brutal shove. Because he’s still hovering over her, fucking into her, and she can see him fucking her, his cock slipping inside then back out, and she can see how she’s flooding onto him too, coating him in her slick.

She can watch his face, the tightening of his jaw, see the look in his eyes, feel the subtle tremor in his hands, the cracks in his composure. She can watch herself, fingering her clit in the space between them, and something about the sight of her own body, all spread out and loose and wide open for him, makes her cry out more freely as the pleasure wells, swells like a hurricane between her thighs. And there’s no eye to this storm. No reprieve from this onslaught.

She really isn’t sure how Leonard is still going. How he can still come up with even remotely coherent words at this point. She can’t think, can do nothing but feel, because the pleasure and God knows what else is crowding out everything else in her head, until there’s nothing but a huge, teeming mass of sensation in the empty cavity where her brain used to be.

“Touch yourself,” is all Leonard says, and it sounds like he’s ripping each syllable from his throat, raspy and thick. “Make yourself come for me.”

Oh God, she’s close, and she knows perfectly well he could make her come if he truly wanted – but he doesn’t. He’s slowing his pace purposefully, smirking, leaving it up to her to bring herself off and finish the job. She almost roars, but grits her teeth against the urge and reaches down, pawing at her clit madly, frantically, swiping her juices upward for more lubrication. The little frissons of pleasure build, link together into a blinding chain and build, build, build, until finally she’s crying out, going tense, her back arching up and her mouth dropping open as she comes for him. She hears herself moan, almost howl, a long, high-pitched, warbling sound, though it barely sounds like her at all. It’s no one she recognizes, making that sound; it’s some carnal, lust-crazed creature. Not her.

It is her. This is what he does to her, like she’s a werewolf and he’s the full moon at night, bringing out the beast caged between her ribs, the creature simmering beneath her skin, sending it stampeding forth. He turns her into an animal so easily.

He doesn’t even really have to try. He never has.

“Oh God, oh fuck God Len, ughh-”

She throws her head back, pitches her chest up so that her breasts stand out, nipples hardened and woefully neglected, and she rubs herself through it as he continues to piston himself in and out, rhythm growing choppier by the second as her cunt clenches greedily around him, as though trying to milk him, draw every drop of his come out of his cock until he’s bone dry. Leonard groans, clenching his jaw, but oddly doesn’t seem content to come inside her and be done with it; he seems to want something else.

Something with a tad bit more showmanship.

It’s a while before her vision rights itself, and Sara finds that she’d all but collapsed before him, gone limp and close to lifeless. She’d lost herself, and when she finds herself again, she realizes he’s released her calves and let her legs sink back down onto the sheets. She feels warm all over, buzzing, pussy wide open and fucked out and gaping in the most delicious way. By now he’s pulled out of her, moved back somewhat and risen to his feet by the side of the bed, and she can tell he’s close by the way he’s practically leaking, his pre-cum mingling with her wetness on his cock into one glistening sheen of desire. He’s breathing hard, flushed, his mouth moving without the capacity to form words.

Now he’s the speechless one. But that’s okay. She can speak for him. She knows what he wants.

Sara somehow manages to beat her rubbery, useless muscles into submission and flips herself upright, making her way over to him on her hands and knees before sinking down before him in a sitting position. She’s almost at perfect eye-level with his cock, and she sizes him up hungrily, licking her lips, before tilting her head to one side and opening her mouth to speak.

“Where?”

Where does he want to cum. Like he’d asked her where she wanted him to fuck her. She’s giving him options, like he’d given her. Because options are good. Options are great, and options make for a hell of a lot better viewing experience. She thinks she can almost see his eyes roll back in his head at the question, and he’d been so strong before, but now he’s putty in her hands, his cock almost dripping down onto her. She doesn’t have to ask; the way he’s eyeing her lips, his pupils wide as black holes, should be indication enough, so she takes the cue and moves in, brushing her lips against the head of his cock, and he whimpers. And Leonard doesn’t whimper, ever, but he does, right then, whimpers like a wounded animal, and she smiles, thrilled to reduce him to such a state; a whimpering, whining, desperate mess.

If he can transform her into a beast, into a creature ruled entirely by desire, then she can do the same to him. She can do it better.

“Here?”

“God, Sara, please…”

His supplication is music to her ears. She considers, briefly, making him beg more, because he would and she knows it, but ultimately she decides against it and leans in, dropping her jaw and closing her mouth around his cock, hollowing out her cheeks to suck him. She can taste herself on him, taste the salty tang of his pre-cum too, and it’s so hopelessly erotic she can’t help the muffled moan that she gives around him, her eyelids slipping shut, mouth full – and she was raised not to talk with her mouth full, so she doesn’t bother pausing to say any words, doesn’t need them. She rubs her thighs together almost unconsciously, aching to reach down and touch her clit again, but she knows she’s too raw and sensitive in the aftermath to come again so soon, so she devotes herself to his pleasure instead, throwing herself into blowing him the same way he’d thrown himself into eating her out.

It doesn’t take long at all. Within a minute, he’s warning her how close he is, preparing her like he always does when he comes in her mouth, before spilling, hot and sudden, inside her, and she drinks him down like her milk and honey, eager and wide-eyed. She glances up, meeting his eyes in a way she knows will destroy him, meeting his eyes so he can watch her swallow him down, ravenous, thirsty for every last drop. And he shudders, when she does; a full-bodied shudder that hits him so hard she swears she can feel it rattle in her bones, until finally the waves are ebbing away and he’s coming down, his muscles relaxing.

Finally, Sara pulls away. She can feel a few wayward dribbles of him on the corner of her mouth, and she’s not overly inclined to wipe them away just yet. Leonard ends up doing it for her, stepping forward and placing his trembling finger on her lips, ridding her of them with a gentle swipe, his blue eyes hazy, the smirk on his lips lazy.

Within seconds he’s bending down, sinking onto the bed with her and kissing her, tasting the remnants of himself on her tongue, and her juices too, and their saliva, and they’re so mingled together, so close in so many ways, that Sara’s foggy mind almost can’t discern the point at which her body ends and his begins; the barrier separating them seems to have been dissolved completely.

“Fuck, I love you,” he rasps against her lips. “I love you so much.”

Sara laughs, remembering the camera suddenly and pulling back with a loopy grin. “I love you too. And… cut.”

Leonard blinks, initially confused, before he remembers too and smiles back, shooting up from the bed, crossing the room to the dresser where the voyeuristic camcorder rests, having seen everything. It’s still recording, as indicated by the glowing red light, and he switches it off at once, picking it up and glancing back with her with raised eyebrows.

“Well,” he says, breathless, and winks. “How ‘bout you and me take a peek at the instant replay, huh?”


End file.
